Denial
by Perry Downing
Summary: Kylo Ren tries to rid himself of the intrusive thoughts of the scavenger by visiting a professional. Unfortunately, his body already knows what his mind refuses to accept. There is no one for him but Rey, and he is forced to acknowledge that.


Kylo Ren doesn't understand. His _companion_ is palming him expertly, but nothing _happens_. He feels only confused revulsion.

She strokes along his length yet his cock lies dormant, spongy flesh refusing to respond.

He's frequented this establishment for years, their offerings always acceptable. They understand his particular needs and none of their employees ever balk at his requirements.

No one sees his face. Ever.

However, tonight he'd tried, _tried_ to take off his mask. He'd removed it for _her_ and he'd wanted to prove he could remove it for another.

But, just as his cock is refusing to cooperate, his fingers _couldn't_ release his mask.

And so here he is, with a useless bit of meat pulled out of his trousers. Hazel eyes, haunting him …

He should have known when he'd insisted on seeing the women on offer. It had never mattered to him before. But tonight he'd inspected them, choosing a slender brunette.

Of course he can't find a moment of peace from _her_. She's always there. Taunting him. Begging him to be _better_.

Fingers full of knowledge grasp his balls and a tepid, practiced mouth engulfs him. He tries to give into the sensation, ignore those perfect, petal-pink lips that beckon him from the halls of memory. But behind tightly clenched eyes, all he can see is a winsome face full of shining strength. Lavender light across fine cheekbones. A Force signature that blinds him. Oh, stars, what he would give … there, he's twitching to life.

Then he feels an unwelcome body shift.

"I think we're ready to go," the wrong voice says as artificially wet heat tries to to settle on him.

But he's standing, pushing, _escaping_. No. _Not yours_. He barely hears the disgruntled yelp as he runs from the room.

* * *

He tears into his quarters. Pacing, _teeming_ with need. He'd thought he'd be able to rid himself of _her_.

But apparently his own body is conspiring against him. Visiting his favored brothel was supposed to put an end to it. It was _supposed_ to be simple. It always had been before. Scratch the itch and never think about it again. Anonymous. Meaningless. _Faceless_. But not now. Now her face is always right behind his eyelids.

He hadn't even wanted to go, had had to force himself through the door. He had run out of options, nothing else had worked. Each time he meets her in battle it gets worse. And now that he's free of that revolting place he's assaulted by memories of the scavenger. _Now_ his cock roars to life and a savage, desperate sound is torn from his throat.

Every morning he wakes up aching from half-remembered dreams, sometimes he finds the shameful evidence of having come in his underthings like a boy.

At night, if he exhausts himself, he can fall unconscious without being tormented by her delicate face. But if he's been forced to dedicate himself to quieter pursuits, night means laying in his empty bed, pretending he isn't consumed with desire.

He despises her, _loathes_ her. This fascination _disgusts_ him.

And yet he's finally giving in. There's no thought as he falls into his chair and calls up the scant number of holos he's been able to find. Researching the enemy, he would tell himself. Hours of study so that he would know how to best her. He pushes away the knowledge that more often than not he had simply … stared.

As if his hand is moving of its own accord, he rips open his trousers and finally wraps his fingers around his needy flesh. He knows he's only ever been this hard since ... _her_.

What is she _doing_ to him? He can't fight against it anymore and he finally, finally gives himself permission to fall into fantasy, this feeling so much stronger than lust. Oh, Maker, it feels like madness!

He strokes himself frantically, allowing himself this pleasure, watching her blink slowly in his favorite holo. He doesn't know how the First Order came to have it, but she's relaxed and smiling. He can almost believe she's smiling for him.

There's only the slick of his pre-come, the slap of skin, his stifled cries and her eyes, Force, her eyes!

Yes, yes, _yes_. Now he can almost taste her skin, smell her scent. Oh to have her lithe body pressed against him, her lips fused with his ...

Thick pleasure rolls through his body as he moves his hand over the silken skin. He wants her, yes _he wants her_. More than he's ever wanted anything, anyone. It's a new kind of wanting, total and devouring. He wants to sink into her and never leave.

He wants to hear every sound he can coax from that slender throat. He wants to mark her, take her, _keep_ her.

So close now. There's no lying to himself in this place, where he's looking on the flickering blue image of her beautiful face as he moves his hand faster, finally doing what he's wanted to do for far longer than he'll ever admit to himself.

He's beyond wanting now, he _needs_ her. His reason is gone and all he can feel is molten ecstasy gathering in his center and damning devotion coiling around his heart.

Oh Maker, yes, Force yes! He closes his eyes, imagining her eyes liquid with heat and her whispering his name. That's it, he's gone. He shouts out, "Rey!" as his release shoots from him. He's nearly blinded by the intensity, his seed arcing high and painting the wall behind him. Then another and another wave, he feels like he'll never stop coming when the last burst streaks across his fist.

He lays back in his chair, panting, gasping for breath. He's never come so hard in his life. His vision is tunneling and he sees stars.

Holy hell, his body hasn't _ever_ responded like that to anyone or any fantasy he could conjure.

What has she done to him?

* * *

He's cornered her on Quol. They've met in combat several times over the last year and he's desperate. Desperate to end this? Desperate to have vengeance? Or just desperate to see her ... he thinks he knows the answer.

Somehow, each time they've met it's always ended with one or the other of them escaping. It became obvious long ago that there is no real lethal intent from either of them. But they keep dancing this dance. It used to thrill him. He'd hurl taunts and she'd return with crude insults. She can swear in at least ten different dialects and he secretly adores that about her.

Adores. He sighs heavily. He's tired of lying to himself. He's just been standing there, his saber extended towards her, hers held defensively. Her eyes flit back and forth in confusion.

His saber crackles with its unstable energy. Finally, he flicks it off and his shoulders fall in defeat.

"I can't," he murmurs.

"What?" she asks in disbelief.

"I can't do this any longer." He reaches up and pulls his helmet from his head and throws it to the ground.

Her eyes go wide and she grasps her saber with both hands, as if she's ready to swing, her face full of suspicion.

"What are you doing?" her shaky voice asks.

"I told you, I _can't_."

She just stands there, wary like a half-wild thing. He'd hoped she might have met him here, put down her own weapon. He'd hoped he hadn't been alone. But she only looks confused.

He nods once and turns from her. He won't chase her any longer. He could never kill her, he knows that now.

With his back turned he hears her lightsaber extinguish. He half turns back to her.

Her face is stunned and her eyes almost afraid. "I can't either," she admits.

He turns to her fully and he sees the mirror of his own confused struggle in her eyes. They plead with him and she takes a step towards him.

Then he's crossing the space between them and she's meeting him. He doesn't think, only pulls her into his arms and sighs when she melts into his embrace. They hold each other's eyes for just a moment, then their mouths are crashing together and all there is is lips and heat, tongues and hands.

He kisses her for an eternity and a moment. It is everything he wants and not nearly enough at the same time.

Finally she pulls back from him and this time her eyes truly are afraid. "What are we going to do?" she whispers.

"I don't know," he admits.

Then he's kissing her again because he has no idea what comes next and he's determined to make this last.

* * *

A/N: CharlotteCAgain and I were talking about how Kylo is so closed off that once he met Rey and began to feel these foreign feelings he wouldn't be able to be with anyone else. I mean, he might try ... but it probably wouldn't work out so well. So I decided to write it. Thank you so much for the inspiration, CharlotteCAgain!

Thanks for giving this little story a try! I might write a second chapter if there's interest. But don't worry, I'm not starting another long-fic. Two chaps at most.


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